The King of Kings,
That's what he is called.
He made big empires
And won all his brawls.
His mighty strength
Could change the epics
In all the directions
Were his relics .
His pride was too much high ,
To be conquered by anyone .
His empire was in his warmth ,
As he was their rising Sun.
In the cry of battle hours,
He crushed all his enemies .
He was truthful and loyal,
But was unaware of his frenemies .
The person he trusted most ,
Gave him an unhealable scar.
No one else than his own brother,
Told him everything is fair in love and war.
In the jail he decided not to mourn.
He was strong willed and stubborn.
He told himself, He will rise high
Because no one can stop the rising sun.
He is the true king of kings ,
Lost All, but not the hope
His determination, will and
Strength marked no stop .
He took a deep breath;
So long that a decade passed.
He returned to silent wrath inside,
To claim the all that honour lost.
He showed them all,
Of what he is made.
Fought and conquered
With the power of blade
Again he proved it;
And returned to throne.
Determination, Morality and hope,
Are a King's real Crown.

When I was able to feel the pain
I went not to my mother.
My mother betrayed me.
Not my father,
My father left me.
I retreat to music.
I bury my scars and bruises in music notes.
I wait for that beat to drop,
In order to raise my heart back up.
This music numbs my pain.
I feel safe in my music,
Grab a pair of headphones before a gun
In a **** zombie apocalypse.
I am going to drown out the hurtful words,
In a tub full of lyrics.
Music,
Heres to you,
For saving my life,
More than anything ever should have to.
Safety,
If you’re lucky
Will be found.
But my safety is the drums
And the guitar.
A song for every occasion,
The rain even has a beat,
Drumming but no rhythm.

The Violin’s azure strings wept softly,
from inside of a mind made cell;
musical echoes lamenting,
a poignant abyss too vast to fill
each and all silenced reverie,
leaving the philosopher’s stone
                                          unthrown

Blue guitar minor chord changes,
bent notes phrasing sharps and flats;
memories ―      gently weeping confirmation
as a repressed flow of soul
pensively leaks out

The spirit's currents eddy
suffused within written verve;
silently purging the soul's fountains ―

                                    musical rivulets swell
                                     quietly overflowing
                              an alchemist’s soul unfurled...


        © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved

Scholars debated for decades
The meaning of those words
He had written.
He couldn't quite say
But knew they had been important at the time.

My nightmares are happier than the real world,
Because you're still there as they unfurl.
They're always about you leaving,
At the end you're always seething..
You swore I was a fool for believing,
But it seems you were deceiving..
I can't push through this maelstrom of feeling,
My screams peel the paint from the ceiling.
In a sea of my tears I am kneeling,
Waking to a world without you sends me reeling.
My nightmares are sweeter than the real world,
Because you're still there as they unfurl.
I don't think I can face the real world..
I always swore you were my dream girl.